For the Love of a Father
by Isabella1098
Summary: Katie's Dad is Jim Moriarty. She loves him as any daughter loves her father, but life as the daughter of a consulting criminal isn't easy especially when Sherlock Holmes gets involved.
1. Daddy?

My converse slap against the pavement as I walk down the streets of London bathed in the rare golden sunlight of mid-afternoon. My backpack filled with heavy schoolbooks.  
"Katie" someone calls. I turn to see who it is. I see my best friend Derek running towards me. His shoulder bag bouncing against his side with every step he takes. Derek and I have been best friends since I moved here three years ago. That fact that Derek is a geek is clearly demonstrated by his chunky glasses and Star Wars t-shirt. "I've got through your script." He says holding out a bundle of paper to me. "I think it's your best yet." You see I write scripts for the school's drama club. It's strange that a quiet girl like me would be involved with the drama club, but I really love writing stories. I was never any good at acting them out, I guess I just don't have the confidence, but I've always loved stories.  
"Thanks Derek" I reply. Derek is the director of the drama club; his dream is to one-day direct movies. He'll get there; he's really good at it.

We spend the rest of the walk home talking about the script. Derek thinks that's it's really good and wants to perform it. I'm not so sure, I've always been nervous and shy about my writing. I don't like people judging me on it. We arrive outside Derek's house.  
"See you tomorrow Katie" giving me a hug.  
"See you then Derek." I reply before making my way home.

I arrive at my building and trek up the stairs to reach my door. I take out the key and unlock the door. I live in a small, neat apartment with my Dad. My Dad is rarely here though. Ever since I can remember, he would just disappear for days at a time before reappearing as if nothing had happened. I dump my school bag in the hallway and head to the kitchen to make dinner for Dad and I although I don't know if he'll be here or not. When I was younger, one of our neighbours Mrs Jenson used to look after me when Dad was away. I used to always sit at the windowsill and watch every car that went passed hoping that it was him coming home. I love my Dad. He is always so caring. I couldn't have wished for a better Dad. Even if he is away all the time.

I know that my Dad's work is illegal. He never came straight out and told me. I just picked up the clues over the years. The fact that he never tells anyone his real name, the fact that he always carries a gun and the fact that he can never tell me where he goes when he leaves home. I don't know how I feel about it. I never understood how he could be so cruel to people yet then come home and watch movies with me while we shovelled caramel popcorn into our mouths. We always watched comedy movies together and usually ended up on the floor laughing. I always look forward to Dad coming home so we can spend time together.

I finish cook dinner – spaghetti bolognaise – and look at the clock. 6:18. He probably won't be home tonight then. I spoon Dad's serving of spaghetti into a microwave container and put it into the fridge hoping he'll be home later but knowing that he probably won't.

I grab my serve of the spaghetti and go to my room. I sit at my desk and open up my laptop. I type my password with one hard whilst the other hand shovels spaghetti into my mouth. I open up the file of my latest story and begin to write. A love of stories is something that Dad and I both have in common. He used to read to me all the time when I was little. Dad loved fairy tales, but I loved books like Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief and Harry Potter more. It was something that we used to do together, read stories to each other.

Raindrops started to patter against the window. I wrap myself in the duvet to try and preserve my body heat. I'm still writing my story, getting lost in the characters. Characters intrigue me the most, there a person that you can completely create. They have thei``````r own habits and personalities; they are as unique and individual as people are.

The sound of the doorbell startles me. I leap up and run to the door hoping that it's Dad.  
"Who is it?" I call out. When you're Dad is a consulting criminal you don't want to answer the door to just anyone. If it were one of his clients then I would freak out completely. His clients are the people who are willing to pay money to make someone disappear or worse.  
"Police" a man calls back. Dad always told me that I have nothing to hide from the police and it's true I don't know anything about my Dad's work. There's no evidence around the house so they're not raiding the place, they know that Dad's not that stupid. I wonder why the police are here then. I open the door.  
"Is this the residence of Jim Moriarty?" the officer asks.  
"Yes," I reply confused "he's my Dad."  
"The hotel he was staying in has reported him as missing. Do you know where he is?" the officer explains. Missing? My Dad's missing? Why would my Dad be missing?  
"He went away on a business trip a couple of days ago, I don't know where he went or when he was supposed to be back. Do you know what's happened to him?" I ask. The only people after my Dad are the police and they're not likely to kidnap him and file a missing persons report. One of Dad's clients? But he always gave them what he owed. Maybe one of the client's wants some work done that Dad doesn't want to do so he ran away. But what's to dark that even my Dad the consulting criminal wouldn't do it. Still, it's the only reasonable explanation. I doubt my Dad is dead or kidnapped; he's too skilled to get caught. He's probably just disappeared for a while.  
"We don't have any leads as of yet." The officer tells me "until we establish what happened to your Dad you have to stay with your next of kin." He says almost robotically.  
"I don't have any family that I've met before." I tell him.  
"Either way, they are still responsible for you." He tells me. I'm about to protest that I can look after myself but I don't know how long Dad's going to be gone. I'd be fine by myself here for a month or two but after that the money Dad leaves for food would run out and I don't know what I'd do. "You have two options, you can either stay with you're Step-Dad and Half-Brothers, or your uncle."  
"I have a step-dad?" I ask shocked.  
"Yes you're Mother remarried a number of years ago before dying last year of breast cancer." He asks confused as to why I don't know this.  
My Mother was never a part of my life, she left when I was a baby and I honestly can't remember her. To me she just didn't exist. I knew that I had to have a mother, but to me she seemed more of a fictional character than a real person. My Dad never talked about her and I never really asked.

So I have a mother. And she remarried and had more children. She exists? Was I just a fictional character to her as well? Just someone who wasn't in her life. I don't know quite how I feel about the revelation that my Mother remarried and had other kids. My Mother was never part of my life; I'm not going interfere with her family's life. If my Mother wanted me to be a part of her family she had her chance.  
"What about my uncle?" I ask.  
"Your Mother's Brother is your closest blood relative." The officer told me. I don't particularly want anything to do with my Mother's family but living with my Step-Dad would just be awkward and I don't have very many options. "His name is Sherlock Holmes." The officer continues  
"I think I'll stay with him." I reply cautiously. I'm very aware that I'm going to live with my Uncle who I know absolutely nothing about. I didn't even know that he existed until a few minutes ago. The officer (whose name I still don't know) nods and tells me to get some clothes together.

I shove some clothes into a suitcase. I know that Dad is fine, he's always fine. I've never seen my Dad weak or uncollected; he gives the impression that he's always in control. My Dad has to be fine. What about this Uncle I'm going to live with? Sherlock, that was his name. I know nothing about him and I'm going to live with him.

I lock the door of my house and race towards the car my feet splashing in the puddles as I go. The officer – who I've now learnt is named Officer Ryan Hawke – drives me in his squad car to my new home. I've only taken a small suitcase with some clothes and my most prized possession, my laptop. I'll come back and get the rest of my stuff another day.

We pull up in front of an apartment building on the other side of London to where Dad and I live. I grab my suitcase and holding my coat above my head to protect myself from the rain I run to the door. I knock on the door and wait anxiously for it to open.


	2. Mummy?

A short man answers the door.  
"Hi you must be Katie, My names John Watson. I'm your uncle's flatmate." He explains smiling.  
"Nice to meet you John" I say quietly. I've always been shy around people I don't really know.  
"Come in, your Uncle's in the lounge room." He says taking my suitcase and carrying it up the stairs. I follow behind him; he seems nice. I'm quite nervous about meeting my Uncle. I'm going to be living with him and I have no idea how long for.

John leads me into the cluttered lounge room. Books lie open on pieces of furniture and scientific equipment fills every available space. Beakers, tubes, flasks filled with colourful liquids. It's a new and unfamiliar place, different in everyway to home. A man in a suit sits on the couch. His dark curls are similar to mine. He sits with a blank expression as if pondering some great mystery.  
"Sherlock." John says to the man sitting on the couch. He only receives a grunt in response. "Sherlock." John calls more loudly this time.  
"You interrupted me from my mind palace." He says still not looking at us. "Why?" he asks in a discourteous tone.  
"Your niece Katie's here." John replies. This seems to interest him; he looks up and stares at me. I get the impression that he is judging me but that he doesn't really know what to make of me. He stares at me for a couple of long seconds.  
"You look like your mother." He replies as if that sums who I am perfectly. I want to make a good impression if I'm going to be staying here for a long time.  
"I never knew her." I tell him quietly.  
"Yes you wouldn't of." He says as if that was entirely expected.  
"Katie this is your Uncle Sherlock." John says as if trying to cover up Uncle Sherlock's judging comments.

A lady dressed in purple walks in tutting at the untidiness of the room.  
"Oh hello you must be Katie, I'm Mrs Hudson"  
"Hi Mrs Hudson, how are you?" I reply politely.  
"I'd be a lot happier if the boys would clean up the flat." She replies glaring at John and Sherlock in turn. John shrugs and goes back to reading his paper and Sherlock doesn't even seem to notice. "You must be tired dear, I've made up the bed in the guestroom for you. It's just through there." She said pointing down the hallway.  
"Thanks Mrs Hudson." I say before retreating to the guest room, well I guess that it's my room now. I collapse on the bed exhausted; it's been a long day. Just a couple of hours ago I was waiting to see if my Dad would come home. Now I'm lying in a bed on the other side of London in a new house. Everything's changed.

I wake in the morning, golden sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains. I yawned and climbed out of bed. My curly ringlets in a tangled mass on top of my head. I realise that I forgot to change out of yesterday's clothes before falling asleep. I crawl out of bed and stumble my way over to my suitcase still half asleep. I grab some clothes and toiletries and head into the hallway. I stare around the unfamiliar flat trying to work out where the bathroom is.  
"Third door on the left." Calls John as if reading my mind. I thank him before entering the bathroom.

Freshly showered and changed I enter the lounge room. Uncle Sherlock is sitting in the corner reading an Agatha Christie book (A/N. Agatha Christie is a famous writer of murder mysteries) muttering about how it's all wrong. John is typing something on his computer and completely ignoring Uncle Sherlock.  
"There should be some food in the kitchen if you're hungry," John tells me. I nod in thanks to him and enter the kitchen. Ignoring all the scientific equipment set up on the kitchen table, I open the cupboard and examine its contents. A jar of pickles, a tin of apricots and a box of cereal. I grab the cereal box only to discover that it's completely empty. Damn. To the fridge then. Upon opening the fridge I was shocked to discover a foot. A human foot. I scream out horrified at the piece of human flesh that the fridge contains. What the hell is that doing there?  
"Sherlock did you leave another human body part in the fridge?" John asks more annoyed than horrified.  
"Well you've failed to come up with a suitable alternative of where to store them." Uncle Sherlock replies not bothering to hide his annoyance at the fact he has to discuss this.  
"Can someone please tell my why there is a foot in the fridge." I say disgusted.  
"It's for one of his experiments." John replies clearly displeased with Uncle Sherlock.  
"And why on earth is he experimenting on a foot?" I ask infuriated.  
"I'm a consulting detective, I enable the police to solve crimes despite their incompetence. To do this I must always be at the cutting edge of science which involves experiments." He explains as if speaking to a three year old.  
"On a foot?" I ask disbelieving.  
"Obviously," he replies before turning back to his book.  
"Sorry about him, he's a bit mental." John apologises  
"High functioning sociopath" corrects Uncle Sherlock not looking up from his book.  
"Well anyway, we can have breakfast at a café when we go to get your stuff." he continues.  
"Thankyou," I reply.

John and I eat breakfast a diner before heading to my flat to get the rest of my stuff. As I packed the last of my things into a suitcase I heard John call out.  
"Katie," he calls from the other room. "Is this your Dad?" he asks pointing at a photograph of Dad and I.  
'Yeah" I reply confused as to why it matters.  
"What's your last name again?" he asks brow furrowed in confusion.  
"Moriarty" I tell him.  
"Your Dad is Jim Moriarty? The famous consulting criminal?" he says shocked.  
"Well…yeah. I know he does something illegal for a job but he never told me what he did. He just…kept me out of it I suppose." I explain. John sucks in a deep breath.  
"You know that Sherlock and your Dad are sworn enemies. Your Dad is a consulting criminal and your Uncle is a consulting detective. They're the complete opposites of each other."  
Dad and Uncle Sherlock were enemies?  
"Did they ever fight or…" I ask  
"They took part in some sort of sick game trying to outsmart each other several people were killed as a result…" Johns tells me cautiously.  
People were killed? Because of Dad and Uncle Sherlock? How can Dad care so much about me but then commit crimes that lead to people dying? I don't understand it. Growing up Dad seemed like the nicest person in the world and yet he could be so cruel and heartless to others.

I realise that John is standing there awkwardly waiting for me to react.  
"I never really understood why my Dad does what he does." I reply distantly. John just nods gravely before grabbing one of my suitcases and heading out to the car.

When we arrive back at the 221B Baker Street Sherlock is pacing back and forth impatiently.  
"Sherlock" John says sternly. "You knew that Katie was Moriatry's daughter didn't you." He states accusingly.  
"Yes" Uncle Sherlock replies with a sigh.  
"Why didn't you tell me? Or Katie? She didn't even know that he was your enemy." John says infuriated.  
"There was no need." Uncle Sherlock replies absently. John opens his mouth to continue his rant but I cut him off before he can speak.  
"Why? Why are you and my Dad enemies?" I ask.  
"Listen Katie," John says sympathetically "your Dad did some things that-"  
"Oh that's not how it started." Uncle Sherlock bursts out annoyed. "It started with your Mother."  
"But my Dad never talked about Mum, how can this be about her?" I ask confused as to how my Mother comes into things. Whenever I was younger and I asked Dad about her he would just tell me "she left".  
"I you didn't interrupt me, then I would explain." Uncle Sherlock says irritated. "Your Mother was a couple of years older than me, she always had a taste for adventure. When I was sixteen and she was eighteen, she ran away from home. She dropped out of college and ran off with her boyfriend. I haven't heard from her since." I sit at listen wide eyed. My Mother was never part of my life, she always seemed sort of fictional to me.

"Your Mother was always going out with the most interesting guys, the most exciting. When she started going out with your Father he didn't have that much business, it was mostly organising armed robberies and break-ins. When your Mother had you life became too normal for her. Instead of planning robberies she was taking care of a baby." Uncle Sherlock explained. "So she left and it destroyed your Dad." He finishes. I stand there in shock. My Dad never talked about my Mother, how could she have impacted his life in such a big way.


	3. Dinner and Derek

**Chapter 3**  
I sit curled up on the couch in front of the TV, a shitty crappy reality show flickering on the screen. Despite the freezing and well English weather I wear a tank top and boxing shorts and cuddle up in my fluffy blanket. Uncle Sherlock is in the corner typing on his computer with lightning speed and muttering to himself. John is attempting to put together something edible for dinner but judging form the swearwords issuing from the kitchen, I won't be expecting a Michelin Star worthy meal.  
After a particularly loud crash and a string of flamboyant curse words I decide to finally take pity on John.  
"Would you like some help John?" I ask entering the cluttered kitchen.  
"Err… yes. Some help would be nice thanks Katie." He says picking up a fry pan, which he had dropped on the floor.  
"So what ingredients do we actually have?" I wonder aloud as I search the kitchen. "Half an onion… and some dried pasta. Do you guys ever actually go shopping?" I ask exasperated.  
"Err… we usually just eat take-away…or a can of baked beans." John admits sheepishly.  
"Ok, you need to actually start eating some proper food. Do either of you know how to cook?" I question raising an eyebrow unimpressed.  
"I can reheat food." John tells me ashamed.  
"I know the formula which can curdle human blood," Uncle Sherlock yells from the other room. "Does that count?" he asks genuinely.  
"No that does not count," I answer repulsed. "And why would you need to know the formula to curdle human blood."  
"It was for a case I solved, you can read about it on John's blog although he missed most of the important details." Sherlock says obviously ticked off at John.  
"I was trying not to scar our readers with all of the blood and gore." John replies annoyed.  
"Well our readers need to grow up and face reality." Sherlock says in a tired voice.  
"None of this gets us any closer to answering the question what is for dinner." I say interrupt before they can get into a full-scale argument.  
"Err…well we could drive to the shops and get some ingredients. I'm not going to be of very much use though, I can hardly make toast without burning it."  
"That's alright, I know how to cook." I reply.

Less than an hour later we arrive back home with the ingredients to make spaghetti bolognaise. To put a cherry on the top I managed to stop John from dismantling the self-service checkout machine, which is a big plus.

I begin to chop the vegetables on the small surface that I managed to clear of Uncle Sherlock's scientific equipment. John starts a conversation.  
"So…are you nervous to start your new school tomorrow?" John asks. We decided that my old school was to far away from the flat so I would be going to the school just around the corner. I'm not that nervous actually. I've never really been one to hang around with the popular kids, that's just not who I am. I'm nice to everyone and mostly the popular kids just ignore me, which is fine by me. I just need to locate the Drama geeks as soon as possible. I'm not really the type of girl to get involved in pointless drama and fights; I prefer to just be left alone with my stories.  
"I'm not nervous really," I tell John. "I'm not the type of girl that thinks she needs to act differently to how she really is in order to impress people. I just act like myself and the people who accept that are much more fun to be around than any fake friends could be."  
"I'm glad to hear it," John replies smiling. "Just tells us if anyone gives you a hard time." He says seriously. I burst out laughing.  
"No one ever gives me a hard time. I don't pay any attention to anyone who ever would, and in turn they leave me alone."

We finish cooking dinner and sit down in front of the TV to eat because the dining is piled high with books, beakers and test tubes. Sherlock and John spend ages arguing over what to watch. But they finally settle on watching Downton Abbey despite Sherlock huffs of annoyance, as he wants to watch Neighbours but John insists that he'll only yell at the TV screen if they do. After I've eaten and stacked my dishes in the dishwasher I grab my mobile phone to call Derek.

Derek has been my best friend for ages and knows all my secrets (A/N. start of first chapter people with memory loss). I feel really guilty for not calling him sooner; he was probably really worried when I didn't turn up at school today. I dial his number, which I know so well that my fingers almost automatically hit the buttons.  
"Katie? How are you? Were you sick off school today?" he asks in a rush.  
"Relax Derek, I'm fine and no I wasn't sick today." I interject before he can continue blabbering.  
"Then what happened, you abandoned me in Drama club and I had to deal with those pesky ten year olds by myself." he says in an annoyed tone although I know that he has already forgiven me.  
"It's kind of a long story so you might want to sit down." I tell him calmly.  
"Were you kidnapped by a group of griffins? Do I need to come and save you?" he asks in a mock serious voice. I start to giggle.  
"No Derek, be serious for a second."  
"Well if you weren't kidnapped by griffins then what on earth made you abandon me at school and not even bother to inform until this very late hour?"" Derek says his usual dramatic self.  
"Well you know how my Dad is always away for work? Well he didn't come home last night and a police officer turned up on my doorstep saying that the hotel he was staying in had reported him missing." I explain hastily.  
"He's missing?" Derek bursts out in shock.  
"Yeah but that's not all. Because I'm not old to live alone the police officer said that I had to stay with my next of kin." I tell him.  
"But you don't have any other family do you?" Derek interjects.  
"That's what I thought too, but the officer gave me two choices: stay with my Step-Dad and Half-Brothers or with my Uncle from my Mother's side." I inform him.  
"Your Mum remarried? I thought she wasn't part of your life." Derek interrupts me yet again.  
"Derek if you would stop interrupting me I could actually explain it to you." I snap at him.  
"Well who pissed in your cereal this morning?" Derek says in mock offence.  
"Sorry I shouldn't have snapped at you," I apologise. "Anyway apparently my Mum remarried and just forgot about me. She died of breast cancer a couple of years ago." I finish. Derek is silent so a few seconds.  
"How are you? I mean really, how are you feeling?" Derek asks me seriously.  
"I don't know. I honestly don't know." I mutter. "Last night I was sitting waiting for Dad to come home and now he's missing, my Mum remarried and is now dead and I'm living with my Uncle that I never new existed and his flatmate. Everything's moving so fast; I don't even have time to think about how I'm feeling about it." I gush out.  
"Just chill Katie," Derek says sternly. "Once everything has settled down you'll sort yourself out."  
"I hope so, I'm starting a new school tomorrow. Our school is too far away to travel everyday." I tell him regretfully.  
"So you're not going to school with me anymore." Derek asks sadly.  
"I can't. It's too far away. I'm really going to miss you though." I tell him.  
"I'll miss you too Katie," He says. "So you're living with your Uncle? What's he like?"  
"He's strange. I'm living with him and his flatmate John and it's really weird. My Uncle Sherlock's a consulting detective and there is scientific equipment all over the flat and don't even get me started on the food, they have absolutely no idea how to cook." I explain.  
"Sounds like they're interesting people." Derek replies laughing. We talk for a while longer before I hang up and collapse in bed exhausted.


	4. Permanent

**Chapter 4**

My alarm startles me from my peaceful slumber and I get up from bed with a groan. I've never been a big fan of early mornings but then again who is? Today is my first day at my new school. Urgh school. I'm usually a good student but doesn't everyone get a bit sick of school sometimes. But I know that I have to get good grades to get a good job so I put up with it.

After having a shower I get dressed in my usual style: black stockings underneath a floral skirt and tank top, leather boots and jacket. I keep my face free of make-up not really seeing the point of wearing any unless it's a special occasion. I do however give in to a little vanity and put on a little lip balm. Leaving my curly hair down I shove my schoolbooks and laptop into my messenger bag before heading to the kitchen.

I search the kitchen to see if there is anything edible for breakfast. I pour some of the cereal we bought yesterday into a bowl and open the fridge. Unfortunately we have run out of milk so I have to eat my cereal plain.

"We're out of milk!" I call through the house to no one in particular.

"I'll get some later." John replies yawning as he groggily searches the flat to find where he left his shoes.

Uncle Sherlock is hunched over his microscope perfectly collected and composed, a stark contrast to John who is running around frantically trying to find a clean pair of socks. John and Uncle Sherlock are dropping me off at school. Uncle Sherlock because he's my temporary guardian and John to make sure the Sherlock doesn't offend anyone (much).

We end up walking although Uncle Sherlock complains. It's only a couple of blocks away. I don't feel nervous about starting a new school, but it seems kind of…permanent. Like I'm moving on with my life without Dad. It's almost as if he isn't part of my life anymore. But he is. He'll come back, he always does. I don't care that he's missing; once he's sorted everything out he'll stumble through the door and take me home. This new home, this new life isn't forever.

"Now remember Sherlock," says John startling me from my thoughts. "At least try not to offend anyone."

"I can't help the fact that people are offended by the truth." Sherlock says indignantly causing John to sigh in exasperation.

"Just let me do the talking ok."

We enter the school and are shown through the maze of hallways and classrooms to the principal's office. The man sitting behind the desk wearing an old fashioned brown suit and a comb over stands up to greet us.

"Good morning, you must be Katie our new student." He says shaking my hand. "My name is Mr Moore, I'm the principal of this school. And I spoke to a John Watson on the phone?"

"That would be me, a pleasure to meet you." Says John shaking Mr Moore's hand vigorously.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm Katie's guardian."

"Nice to meet you."

We got through the usual business of rules, maps and timetables with John only have to kick Uncle Sherlock in shins to stop him saying something rude four times.

"What elective subjects do you think I should choose? French or visual arts?" I ask.

"You'll probably learn more in French, unless you're particularly good at art, French is the most valuable." Supplies John helpfully

"Keeping in mind that you don't actually learn anything important at school and that it is a complete waste of time." Sherlock tells me.

"That's right Sherlock, encourage Katie to get a good education why don't you." John says sarcastically. In the end I choose drama, French and creative writing.

"Well know that everything is sorted out, I'll send someone to show you to your classes." Mr Moore told me. I said goodbye to John and Uncle Sherlock who then left before Uncle Sherlock could make any more remarks about how school is pointless.

A tall girl around my age enters the room. She has light brown hair that falls to her shoulders and is really pretty.

"You wanted to see me Mr Moore?" she says chirpily.

"Yes miss Walters, this is our new student miss Katie Moriarty, if you would be so kind to show her around today I'm sure she would appreciate it. " he instructed he.

"Sure thing Mr Moore." She replies happily.

"Her locker is next to yours and she also has the same timetable as you." He tells us. "So now that everything is in order, you two should probably get to class." He says dismissing us.

"My name's Georgie by the way." She tells me brightly.

"Katie. We've got double drama now don't we?" I ask looking at my timetable.

"Yeah my favourite subject. I want to be an actress when I'm older."

"My favourite subject's English and I don't really know what I want to do when I'm older though." I tell her polietly. That's not strictly true; I would really like to be a writer when I grow up but I doubt that it will ever happen.

Georgie leads me through the unfamiliar school with ease, pointing out the different classrooms on the way. I try my best to remember where everything is, not wanting to get lost next time. The hallways are deserted of students as the first lesson already underway.

"And here's the drama hall," announces Georgie as we arrive in front of the door. We enter in a scene of chaos. The old, run-down hall and its creaky stage are littered with groups of students. They seem to be in the middle of doing a group project with the amount of arguing and chaos that's going on. I scan the room to see that they're divided into groups of four and five some of the obviously trying to work and others not even bothering to pretend that they're on task. The teacher is nowhere to be seen.

"We should probably tell Ms Snow that you're here," says Georgie breaking me from my train of thought. "She'll be in her office marking work." She continues as she leads me to the adjoining office that I hadn't noticed before. Georgie knocks on the door before entering and I follow her. "Ms Snow, we have a new student in our class."

"Miss Moriarty? Yes I was told that she would be joining us. So tell me did you do drama at your old school?" Ms Snow asks peering at me over her reading glasses. She's quite a short plump lady with wispy white blonde hair pulled into a messy bun.

"Yes, I was also in the extra curricular drama club." I tell her slightly nervous at addressing a new teacher.

"Good good, finally some serious actors in my class." Ms Snow says happily. Clearly some other members of her class don't think that drama is important. "You can be in Georgie's group. We're creating a short play. You have to include knights, princesses and a journey of some sort. Georgie can fill you in on the details." She tells me with a wave of her hand signalling that I was dismissed.

Georgie lead me over to a group of students. Two tall boys who were busy fencing with the prop swords, and a petite blonde girl who was staring blankly at her laptop as if trying to think of something.

"Guys." Georgie said trying to catch their attention but the didn't hear over the racquet they were creating. "GUYS!" she yelled. They all stoped what they were doing and looked at Georgie. "This is Katie, she's a new student and is going to be in our group." Georgie introduced me.

"Hey Katie, I'm June." Said the blonde girl who had previously been typing on her laptop.

"My name is Kyle," said one of the boys "and you may call me Oh Great Possessor of the Fabulous Arse." He said with a perfectly straight face. I stared at him blankly for a few seconds then everyone else burst out laughing. I realised how absurd the situation was and started to giggle along with them. Kyle was clearly the joker of the group.

Suddenly someone picks me up and throws me over their shoulder. "Never fear fair maiden, for I am Sir Martin, and I will rescue you from the evil dragon." I shriek in laughter and hit his back although he doesn't seem to take any notice of me. All the others are laughing their heads off; June is actually lying on the floor clutching her stomach.

"C'mon Martin," says Georgie still trying not to laugh, "we don't want to scare her yet." Martin just chuckles and places me gently down on my feet. Well I guess that they're just really confident people. I'm slightly overwhelmed by there confidence me being such a quiet person.

"So how's the script going?" asks Kyle tucking the prop sword into his belt.

"Well since the boys have been such a help" June says sarcastically, "I haven't really started."

"Well what have we got so far?" Georgie asks.

"Martin is going to be the knight, Georgie the princess, I was going to be the evil witch and Kyle was going to be my minion. Err… that's it really…"

"Well I'm useless at coming up with plots so don't rely on me for help." Georgie tells her.

"What are the criteria again?" I ask in my usual quiet voice.

"Speak up would you, I can't hear a thing you say." Says Martin.

"What? Not even with those oversized ears of yours?" replies Georgie with a smirk.

"Why you wound my pride and my honour." Martin replies in posh offended voice.

"Your ears aren't that big Martin." Reassures June kindly and Martin just huffs in reply.

"Anyway the criteria are knights, princesses and a journey of some sort." Georgie says before we get even more off task.

"Err… Well we could have the knight go on a quest to try and find a princess to marry…and his best friend will come along." I say carefully examining everyone's interested expressions. "And an evil wizard trying to stop them with various curses and stuff… then they eventually rescue the princess who just turns out to be a whiny bitch… And he'll realise that he's in love with his best friend who's a total badass and can kill ten trolls by herself." I finish thinking aloud.

Silence. They sit in silence. I stand nervously waiting for their feedback. Then Georgie suddenly yells.

"Shotgun badass best friend."

"Damn it, I wanted to be her." June whines

"You got to be Alice when we did Alice in Wonderland." Georgie argued.

"Fine" June gives in. "I'll be the whiny princess."

"I could totally be an evil wizard." Says Kyle clearly excited.

"Then it is my duty to be the valiant knight." Announces Martin drawing his sword.

"Would you be okay writing the script?" Georgie asks me kindly. "None of us really that good at script writing."

"Sure." I tell her smiling. Inside I was just glad that they liked my idea. They all seemed like nice people, if completely crazy. "I wrote all the plays for the extra curricular drama club at my old school." I admit sheepishly.

"Well then you are officially part of the drama geeks association" Martin says proudly.

"I'm not really that great at acting," I say truthfully. "Just script writing and stories."

"That doesn't matter," Assures June. "At least we know have something decent to act out." She gives me a smile and I smile back already starting to like these people.

I arrive at the flat after school has finished. I throw my school bag onto the floor taking the weight off of my sore shoulders. It's my first day of school; I don't understand why I need all of these textbooks. I immediately head into the kitchen searching for my daily after school snack. Rifling through the fridge I find that for once we have some fresh bread and cheese and a complete lack of severed human limbs.

I make myself a toasted cheese sandwich before getting out my phone to call Derek. Before I dial his number though Uncle Sherlock calls out.

"John, Katie, We have a case!"


	5. Murder in the Manor House

"John, Katie, We have a case!" Uncle Sherlock calls out.

"Oh thank Lord, you were driving crazy." John replies relieved.

"What do you mean a case?" I ask completely lost as to what's going on. "Has someone been murdered?" I say concerned. No one has time to answer me as Uncle Sherlock grabs my arm and pulls me out of the flat and into a taxi.

"The train station please." Uncle Sherlock says to the taxi driver. Uncle Sherlock looks as if he's had way to much coffee with the way that he can't stop fidgeting, his eyes flicking around the streets we drive through the crowded London traffic. He's in some sort of frenzy.

"Where are we going?" I ask bewildered.

"A manor house just outside of London." Sherlock says absently.

"Why? Has someone been killed?" I ask starting to panic a little. Uncle Sherlock doesn't answer nor make eye contact with me, he just continues to stare out of the window his eyes scanning the shopfronts and pedestrians we drive past.

"Err…Katy, obviously its horrible when people are murdered…" John says cautiously, "but someone has to make sure that the people who do this are punished." All I can do is nod blankly.

Of course I know that people are murdered, I'm not completely oblivious. But somehow it was a distant thing that never happened to anyone I knew. Murder was reserved for drug dealers, smugglers and crooks, people that I would never have anything to do with. Now murder suddenly seemed very real and very scary.

Dad had murdered people. I knew that, I had always known. But that part of him – the consulting criminal part – always seemed fictional too me. Dad wasn't like that, not with me. When he was with me he was a loving and caring father. How can he become a completely different person? I don't understand.

After long taxi ride and a cramped train journey and yet another taxi ride, we arrive at a magnificent manor house. We drive the long twisting gravel driveway passing through the magnificent gardens and forest. The taxi pulls up in front of a massive house. It's several storeys high and is obviously quite old although it has been kept in good condition. It's the kind of place that you imagine Dukes and Duchesses to spend their summers in.

"This is the house?" I ask in complete shock. "It's massive."

"It used to be owned by a Duke of something-or-other until he was sent to jail for tax fraud, he then sold it to a billionaire who has just been murdered." Uncle Sherlock says in a vague sort of way making it clear that his mind is on other things.

"How on earth does someone get that much money?" asks John astonished.

"Well its seems that when Mummy and Daddy own one of the biggest hotel chains in the world, you don't have to be practically good at anything to earn money." Replies Uncle Sherlock mockingly.

"Her parents gave her enough money to by that?" I ask gobsmacked. Before anyone can reply, a butler dressed in a fancy suit opens the front door and welcomes us inside the massive house. Wow she really must be rich if she has a butler and I should probably stop calling it a house, it's more of a castle…or a chateau.

We walk through the lobby area and the butler takes our coats. Even the lobby is huge. It's decorated with intricately carved tables and paintings that even I – who knows nothing about art – can tell are worth thousands of pounds. A huge crystal chandelier hung delicately from the ceiling. I feel like I shouldn't be here. Like I'm in too fancy restaurant and I know that I'm going to drop my fork.

"The Detective Inspector Lestrade is waiting for you in the Library," announces the butler in a very proper voice. "The other guests are all in the ballroom." John nods at him in thanks and Uncle Sherlock is already marching down the hallway that the butler is gesturing at.

We enter a vast library; it's shelves groaning with the weight many of those old fashioned, leather bound books. Three people all dressed formally are huddled together conversing in quiet whispers. As we approach them they turn to look at us.

"Well don't you all look pretty all dressed up like this?" Uncle Sherlock says clapping his hands together and rocking back onto his heels.

"The victim Sienna Thomson, was hosting the annual Police Fundraiser for Sick Kids." Explains a short man with greying side swept hair. "We were all attending the dinner when the murder occurred."

"Who's this?" asks a woman with curly brown hair wearing a backless black dress.

"This Sergeant Donovan, is my niece Katie. I am also her guardian as of present." Uncle Sherlock explains through clenched teeth.

"Wait so you're living with him?" the woman apparently called Sergeant Donovan says not altogether that nicely.

"Yes." I tell her simply.

"What's it like living with the freak?" she says crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Do you get to see all of his freaky habits?" she continues rudely raising and eyebrow in question. I just scowl at her, not exactly appreciating the what she's saying about Uncle Sherlock."

"Well nice to meet you Katie, my name's Lestrade." Says the man that spoke earlier obviously trying to prevent further bickering. "This is Anderson," he tells me waving vaguely in the direction of a man standing cross-armed in the corner. "He does forensics."

"So what do we know so far?" asks Uncle Sherlock looking like a five year old that's had too much red cordial. Lestrade steps to the side revealing a body I didn't see before. A body. It seems as if everything slows down; I don't want to look at the body, but yet I can't tear my eyes away. A young woman lays lifeless on the floor. Dressed in fine clothes her skin is already turning a blue grey colour. A bullet wound decorates her chest, the fine cloth of her dress stained the deep red colour of blood. The most shocking thing though is the lifelessness of her piecing blue eyes. Eyes that would match perfectly with her styled blonde curls. She was a very beautiful woman. Now she just seems so empty.

I hear everyone else talking but I can't seem to absorb the words, like the conversation is somehow distant from me. I feel John put a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you alright Katie?" he asks. I hear him but it's as if I'm underwater and the sound is muffled. "Are you going to faint?" He questions anxiously. Almost as if a switch has been flicked, suddenly everything isn't muffled anymore. Quite the opposite, everything is in extreme detail.

"Her name's Sienna Thomson heiress to one of the largest fortunes in Britain." Explains Lestrade. "And I can tell you, we've never had a case anything like this before."


	6. Doesn't Add Up

**Chapter 6**

"Well this case has certainly got you all begging for your help quicker than usual," snorts Uncle Sherlock.

"We don't beg for anything," says Sergeant Donovan obnoxiously. Uncle Sherlock just rolls his eyes. She looks as if she's going to say something else but Lestrade holds up a hand to silence her.

"Miss Thomson was hosting the party tonight when a black Aston Martin pulled up in the driveway," Announces Lestrade as if he were a teacher giving a lecture to a class of students. "All of the one hundred and fifty guests here saw the car pull up through the windows of the ballroom however we didn't see whoever got out. The secretary said it was a important client that need to speak to Miss Thomson urgently so she escorted the man here to the library."

"The secretary then got Miss Thomson and brought her to meet the client before returning to the ballroom. Five minutes later everyone heard a gunshot and rushed to discover Miss Thomson dead and no one else in the library. We immediately tried to clear everyone out of the crime scene and in to the ballroom. From the ballroom we then saw the Aston Martin take off speeding down the driveway and all the police vehicles with slashed tyres. The Aston Martin was found dumped a couple of miles from here. We checked the number plates and it was stolen so know news there."

I stare wide-eyed and Lestrade. Someone just drove in to see Miss Thomson shot her and drove away? With a party full of people next door? They killed someone and drove away as that didn't matter.

"Katie if you want to wait outside you can." Johns says looking at me concerned.

"No, I'm fine." I manage to get out. I'm not sure if that actually true but I can't leave now. It's like I don't want to know what really happened to her but at the same time I have to know. John looks at me with an expression that shows he doubts that I really am all right but he doesn't object.

"Ooh a murder where the murderer doesn't care if the world knows that they killed her. They just waltz up the steps into her house and shoot her. Well isn't this puzzling." Uncle Sherlock says eyes sparkling with excitement. I look around the room; everyone is acting as if this is completely normal. There is a woman dead on the floor! No one seems disturbed by this, they're acting as if it's just another day at the office. Of course this actually is their job so seeing stuff like this would be normal for them. But for me it's shocking. Brutal and shocking.

Sergeant Donovan steps forward to start talking.

"What would usually be our main suspect – her long term boyfriend who inherits all her money and belongings – has a rock solid alibi. He was talking to me at the time of the murder."

Uncle Sherlock only hums in response, he's pacing the room now examining the shelves that line the walls occasionally plucking ornaments and holding them up so that they catch the light that being emitted from the chandelier on the ceiling before placing them down again. He slides a large leather-bound book from its place on the shelf and begins to leaf through the pages lazily.

"The window is open but there are no footprints in the mud." Uncle Sherlock remarks.

"What?" asks Lestrade puzzled. Uncle Sherlock releases a sigh as if he is astonished but Lestrade's stupidity.

"The window," he replies pointing towards a fair sized window over in the corner of the room. "It's open but there are no footprints in the mud, do either the killer had hover boots or the window was opened to set a false trail." Uncle Sherlock says sarcastically.

"She could have opened it to get some air," contradicts Anderson. Uncle Sherlock shuts his eyes as if trying to restrain himself from strangling Anderson.

"Not. In. This. Weather. You. Idiot." He spells out slowly.

"Alright boys break it up," warns Lestrade. Uncle Sherlock glares at Lestrade before bending down to examine the necklace on the body. It's a simple silver locket with a coat of arms on the front. Uncle Sherlock seems to be built to investigate, it's what he naturally does best. He stands back up.

"I need to speak to the secretary," announces Uncle Sherlock.

"We've already ruled her out as a suspect," replies Donovan raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"Yes but I need to speak to her." He replies dismissively.

"Alright well move into another room so that she doesn't see the body and I'll send someone get him from the ballroom." Says Lestrade.

As we file out of the room I get one last lingering glance at the body of Miss Thomson. Lying empty on the floor. It scares me that a person can do that to another human. More than that, it scares me that my Dad has done that to people. It's not right to kill people, killing people is evil. But how could my Dad be so caring and kind with me and yet be so cruel to others?

We're herded into the lounge room, which is as extravagant as the rest of the house. A few minutes later a petite blonde woman knocks nervously on the door.

"You wanted to see me detective." She asks in a small voice. "I'm Anna Hastling. Sienna Thomson's secretary."

"Yes if you could just answer a few questions that would be great." Says Lestrade.

"Did the client that killed Miss Thomson make an appointment?" Uncle Sherlock asks.

"Yeah he made an appointment about a week ago under the name Dr Walford." She tells him nervously. "I hadn't heard of him before but Miss Thomson knew him." Uncle Sherlock was pacing the room slowly. His face was unreadable but his eyes betrayed the astronomical rate at which he was thinking.

"Were you and Miss Thomson on good terms?" he asks not halting his pacing.

"Well, yes she was a good employer and treated me well but I wouldn't say that we were friends." Miss Hastling replied hesitantly.

"And how long have you been working for Miss Thomson?" Uncle Sherlock asks ceasing his marching back and forth to stare directly into Miss Hastling's eyes.

"Err not all that long… about a year and a half now" comes her hesitant reply

me her uncertain reply. That seemed to be all the information the Sherlock required from her.

"That'll be all Miss Hastling." He informed abruptly.

"You can go back to the ballroom now." Lestrade told her obviously trying to mask Uncle Sherlock's discourteous manner. "We'll call you if you need anything else."

As miss Hastling exits the room Uncle Sherlock clasps his hands behind his back and begins to rock back and forth on his heels.

"She's lying." He says definitively.

"About what?" asks John inquisitively.

"I don't know," replies Uncle Sherlock staring blankly around the room. "Her story just doesn't add up."


End file.
